


Comes In Many Forms

by norcumi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dark, Deathfic, Don’t copy to another site, GFY, Gen, Obi-Wan as Chuck Norris, Originally Posted on Tumblr, no really the Author thought the angst level was uncalled for, rescued from the tumblr purge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 19:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: A spiritual followup to Barren Humor.Cody survived the war, but some bad days he needs a reminder of when things were better. Funny, how stupid jokes can become the last thread of hope....





	Comes In Many Forms

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Barren Humor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4551300) by [dogmatix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix), [norcumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi). 



> Originally posted to Tumblr on 5/06/2016.

Cody trudges into his quarters, tossing his bucket onto the desk and slumping down in his chair. He feels old, so _damn_ old, and all he can do is lean forward and put his face in his hands.

He remembers the boy. The young man Vader killed earlier today had, in better times, been an initiate, and that boy is all Cody can see when he closes his eyes. A youngling, tan skin and eyes such a vibrant green he suspected non-human ancestry. The dark hair long ago had been parted like Obi-Wan’s, and it had been amusing, then, how much the boy wanted to _be_ the General. Kenobi had even indulged the kid’s desire for a duel once, patiently walking the kid through steps of several particularly tricky blade twists.

The young man’s hair had the spiky messiness that comes from growing it out until it got chopped off out of necessity. He’d worn a messy collection of armor that had made Cody wince and stop in his tracks, because the shoulderguards, gauntlets, and chest guard mimicked Obi-Wan’s gear from early in the war, before the General had gotten more…reckless.

It might have protected the kid from the stormtroopers’ blaster shots, but it had been nothing to Vader’s lightsaber.

He threads his fingers through his hair, gripping tight as he dares, but that defiant look, the boy who was gone and the young man who had died reminds him too much, and it’s looking like one of those days where he can’t stop seeing a falling lizard, a falling Jedi behind his eyelids.

He had had his orders. He’d done what he could for his General, ordering only a single shot from a single cannon, using the worst calibrated weapon he could recall in a few brutal seconds. The only proof – the only _hope_ – that it had been enough was that Obi-Wan’s name had never been recorded among the lengthy lists of the dead.

He’s scrabbling for his personal effects, the small carry pouch most stormtroopers have as a ready bag. It’s not just toiletries, and Cody’s holds a small, durasteel lockbox. He punches in the code and thumbs the scanner with shaking hands, old screams of “good soldiers follow orders” ringing through his memories. Sometimes he needs something, needs a reminder, an alternative, and he can only suppose this is better than spice.

The box pops open, and he carefully pulls out flimsies, cheaply printed and more than a little worn. Most are cartoons, caricatures of a strong face and that damn beard. Always with the mad little grin, often brandishing a lightsaber.

_Death once had a near Obi-Wan Kenobi experience._

_Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn’t have good aim. His guns just know better than to miss._

_Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn’t play hide-and-find. He plays “hide-and-pray-I’ve-got-better-things-to-do-than-find-you.”_

_Obi-Wan Kenobi sleeps with a pillow under his lightsaber._

There are holos of the same, little projector chips that show loops of holonet footage, but he ignores those today. His hands are still shaking as he reaches the last flimsi, more worn than the others. It was drawn by one of his brothers in Ghost company, dated less than a week before a lucky droideka took the poor bastard’s legs right out from under him. Man had bled out before the medics could get to him, and so Cody had made sure to make several copies of his last gift because he couldn’t lose this too.

He’s pretty sure Obi-Wan never knew who started this one, that Cody commissioned Sketch along with an oath of silence, but it was the only post-Hardeen joke that ever got anything remotely like a legitimate smile out of the general.

It’s a sketch of Obi-Wan at the head of the 212, lightsaber raised in challenge, Cody at his shoulder, and so many familiar buckets and designs sprinkled throughout the horde behind, guns ready and firing. The text underneath is simple.

“Jedi don’t have family, so Obi-Wan Kenobi adopted the whole 212th.”

As always, it makes Cody breathe deep, a conscious attempt to control himself. Some days this one makes him cry. Some days it makes him smile, a little. He runs his fingers over the edge, never touching the worn print.

Some days it makes him cry, some days it makes him smile, but Obi-Wan Kenobi’s name has only appeared on the lists of the dead once – and it was wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want further punches to the heart, this was continued on Tumblr by Jhaernyl, and I believe [the last post in the series is here](https://jhaernyl.tumblr.com/post/144094438896/deadcatwithaflamethrower-jhaernyl-norcumi).


End file.
